


Music To My Eyes

by WordsAblaze



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Camille Belcourt Being An Asshole, F/M, Hurt Simon Lewis, M/M, Minor Violence, Protective Raphael Santiago, Saphael, Simon Lewis Needs a Hug, abusive camille belcourt, clueless raphael loves it, i love how that's a tag, simon uses movie references to flirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAblaze/pseuds/WordsAblaze
Summary: Simon's life is simple: Camille is painful noise, the ocean is a gentle melody, and life is just a (literally) bloody mess of a composition. But then someone starts leaving colourful stones on the beach, the strings in his heart start to play with hope, and this mysterious vampire becomes his favourite rhythm. Written for the Sh Hiatus BB, enjoy!





	Music To My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really happy to finally post this, after the downs and downs it took to get here. 
> 
> A massive thank-you to my lovely beta, @lightwormsiblings, for putting up with my lack of progress and taking the time to find my silly mistakes!
> 
> A round of applause for @la_muerta for the incredible, incredible art that genuinely inspired me to finish the fic! (look at how beautiful it is!!!!)
> 
> A minute of appreciation for @mansikka for the gorgeous and wonderfully apt title art!! It's better than I could have dreamed of!
> 
> Shout out to @s-horne for giving me the original idea by posting a picture of painted stones on a beach, that inspired me to write this so some credit so them too!! 
> 
> They're awesome people and you should totally check them out for fics much better than mine!! <333
> 
> Lastly, a colossal amount of gratitude to @zeejade88 for being super encouraging and immensely kind, I couldn't have finished this without her lovely support :)

 

* * *

 

Vampires might like blood but that doesn’t mean they like to bleed.

Simon Lewis is no exception to that, so when he falls into the table and grazes his leg on the rough wooden surface, drawing blood, he winces and squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could be anywhere else but here.

His chest hurts, the new scratches on his arms are stinging incessantly – not to mention trickling blood – and the older bruise on his back might be fading but the pain from it is still strong. He’s tired, both physically and mentally, and all he wants to do is go to the beach, where he can listen to the symphony of nature and forget his injuries.

“Get out of my sight,” Camille hisses, unknowingly granting his wish in a strange way.

Naturally, he doesn’t hesitate to do exactly that, stumbling in his hurry to leave and almost tripping over the door-stopper as he goes. He runs the rest of the way, breezing past anyone and everyone that happens to be around. He only stops when he gets outside, where he leans against the wall and puts his hands on his knees, bending over a little.

Gone are the times when breathing heavily was a thing he actually had to do in order to recover but he gasps for breath anyway, eventually raking a hand through his hair and starting to walk. He doesn’t know how long it takes him to walk to his destination but he finds that he can breathe as soon as he gets there, as soon as his bare feet sink into the sand that hurries to fill the spaces between his toes and the scent of salty water fills his lungs.

He takes a moment to just take it all in, the seagulls flying in the distance practically calling to him with their disjointed song. He can hear the ocean luring him forwards and he does nothing to resist it, his feet picking themselves up and starting to walk before he can even think about moving.

Not that he has to think about it, he’s been here enough times to know exactly how to get to his little spot. It’s a secluded little area, near the rockier side of the beach, where the tide is almost always too high for anyone to build sandcastles that they want to last for more than a few minutes. It’s almost a cave but not quite, giving him privacy but not shielding him from the world entirely.

He loves it, he loves how he can always settle into one of the unintentionally ergonomic rocks – as he does now – and look out to the endless ocean, forgetting that the rest of the world exists for a while. But, at the same time, he can look up and see the edge of the cliffs that remind him how fragile and precarious the balance of life really is in comparison to the calmness of the ocean.

But today, something’s changed.

Where all the rocks are usually different shades of grey, the whole place an epitome of monochrome heaven, there are now little splashes of colour, small colourful rocks neatly scattered near his usual sitting place.

“Am I dreaming?” Simon asks himself, “Or is this some crazy Power Rangers business?”

As it turns out, it’s neither of those things; it’s simply painted stones.

Simon frowns at them, wondering if it’s a prank before kneeling down in front of them and picking a blue one up. The paint is smooth, as if someone had taken great care in making sure the surface stayed as level as possible, as if painting these rocks was a task they’d done out of sincerity and not just for a laugh.

Whoever had painted the stones couldn’t have known about his current hatred of the colour red, the colour of blood, but none of the stones have been covered with a red pigment, making him smile. It’s nice to see other colours without having to make a deal with someone to keep them, without worry of how soon his world will be filled with red and white once more.

Somehow, it calms him to turn the small stone over in his hand in a steady rhythm. He leaves the rest alone for the moment, simply admiring the way the blue of the stone matches the blue of the ocean but seems so much more authentic, so much more purposeful.

“Thank you, random painter of stones…” Simon mumbles needlessly.

Focusing on the blue stone is all he does for the next hour or so he has before the sun goes down and the rest of the vampires can search for him again, ruin his sanctuary again. He doesn’t even move, ignoring the way his limbs yell at him to start walking before he gets cramps and letting his eyes fall shut so he can focus on the music of the evening rather than the ringing in his ears from his head hitting the wall earlier.

There’s a part of him that wants to leave the stone there with the rest of them when a familiar red blaze starts to spread across the sky but his heart won’t let him, needing the reminder that red isn’t the only colour that can be used as an ending point to the day. When darkness starts to creep over the sand and the breeze speeds up, Simon wobbles to his feet and runs, runs so that when someone comes to find him and take him back to Camille, they won’t enter his calm place, his secret retreat.

As he runs and the wind howls in his ears like a crescendo, Simon tightens his fist around the blue stone like it’s an anchor to hope, an anchor to a future where red isn’t a part of his daily routine. He’s glad he’d found the little colourful stones because he wasn’t sure how long he could go on otherwise.

It's a small object but it's enough to lift his spirits just enough to bring back some of the energy he'd been rapidly losing recently. Secretly, he hopes, despite how unlikely it is, that he can one day find and meet whoever had left the stones and thank them for helping him, even though they probably don't even know him. 

He just hopes that whoever had left the coloured stones doesn’t go back to find one missing and hate him for it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“There you are,” Billy drawls, silently appearing above Simon.

It doesn’t come as much of a shock because that had been Simon’s plan, to run and hide by the shipping containers so it’d take a while for him to be found but it wouldn’t be too hard. He subtly pockets the blue stone and stands, sighing in defeat. He knows by now that he can’t get away, he’s not fast enough, but that doesn’t mean he’ll go back unless someone forces him.

“Hurry up, we don’t have all night.” Billy pulls on his arm, dragging him onto the main road, and then they run.

They run so fast that everything becomes a blur. The towering buildings, the bright streetlights, and the occasional vehicle here and there, all become a smear of colour in his vision as he tries to keep up, tries not to stumble or fall.

When they get back, Simon is immediately shoved inside, then pulled to Camille’s room, where she’s waiting for him with a smile. She waves to the vampire who’d brought him to the door – he hadn’t been paying attention when Billy had passed him over – and walks over to Simon, not so gently guiding him away from the door so she can close it behind him.

“I’ve missed you,” Camille drawls, a hand curling around the nape of his neck.

Simon nods, shivering as her nails brush over his skin.

There’s a ringing in his hears as he’s abruptly pushed against the wall and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut to try and get rid of the pain. He only opens them again when something sharp threatens to break the skin on his neck.

He gasps, seeing Camille once again in a proximity that’s far too close for comfort, but he doesn’t get long to process it because her teeth pierce his skin and he can’t breathe. Squirming, he winces, trying to push her away. He’s not ready yet, she hasn’t done this so quickly before, he hadn’t had time to prepare.

“Wait…”

Camille, of course, ignores him, starting to drink his blood as if her life depends on it. Some of his blood trails down his neck and he reaches up to wipe it away but Camille is there first, smacking his arm away before wrapping her hand around his hair, pulling him closer and taking his unneeded breath away.

He can practically feel the blood trying to stay in his body, being forcibly pulled out by Camille’s mouth, but he can’t do anything, his arms numb and his legs shaking as he tries to hold himself up. Dark spots dance in his vision, and he feels his eyelids fluttering before he’s on the floor and the room is sideways.

Or is he sideways?

“Don’t run away from me, darling,” Camille whispers as she kneels in front of him, blood around her mouth like smeared lipstick.

Simon wants to argue that he hadn’t run away, that she’d told him to leave, but he’s dizzy, so dizzy, and all he can do is nod weakly, letting his eyes fall shut and accepting the fatigue that washes over him.

He catches sight of alarmingly tall heels walking away from him, somehow managing to register the rhythmic beat they make on the floor before everything goes dark and quiet.

No more than a minute later, in Simon’s opinion at least, he’s awoken by someone kicking his side.

“You’re the worst alarm clock ever,” he mutters as he sits up, rubbing his eyes, ignoring the stinging in his neck.

“Just for that, you can go downstairs now instead of after the meal,” Billy says, grabbing Simon’s shoulder and yanking him up.

He blinks, swaying a little, before finding his balance and following Billy to the back door. Billy opens the trapdoor and Simon curses under his breath before turning and climbing down, flinching when the door is shut over his head.

“Why don’t vampires come with night vision?” Simon asks himself as he carries on moving, humming to himself until he reaches the rather large room they usually hide in when the clan is under attack, the room that also doubles as his bedroom most of the time.

It’s not that he can’t see anything, it’s just that there’s nothing to see, really. Four walls, a floor, and a ceiling aren’t really an interesting sight.

He slides down the far wall, settling into the corner and closing his eyes, imagining that he’s back at the beach with the ocean soothing his troubles instead of being sat in the corner of a dark room, able to feel the little blood he has left inside him flying through his veins in a broken rhythm.

He pulls the little blue stone out of his pocket and lets it rest in his palm. It’s cool and smooth, much calmer than him, so he listens to its silence instead of his own aches and pains. They don’t matter anyway, they’re just small punishments for him being himself, doing whatever he does best, or worst, depending on how you look at it.

His feet start to tap on the floor after a while, tapping in tune with the throbbing at his neck. Of course, he ignores said throbbing, trying to imagine that he’s the protagonist of a dystopian film and he’s just waiting for a handsome stranger to stumble upon and fall in love with him. He tells himself that he has to hold on, that the bruises on his skin are just as noble as Poe’s even though he’s not flying a resistance aircraft.

Apparently fed up with the silence, his stomach rumbles noisily, making him double over and clench his jaw, pulling himself into a small ball as if he can simply fold the hunger away for another day. He can't, but it's nice to try doing just that anyway.

His need for food – blood – might be loud but his desire for sleep is louder, drowning everything else out and letting him escape, letting him fall into a world full of colourful stones and blissful, musical silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Simon coughs, jerking himself back into reality.

He’d gotten lost in dreams of quiet blue and harmonies of yellow, with the occasional deluge of silky, overwhelming crimson, but now he’s awake and his own hunger is the only sound he can hear.

Shakily, he gets to his feet, dizzily stumbling his way to the ladder and ignoring the sharp pangs of hunger as he starts to climb, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, on getting to the top, to the door.

“Please!” He yells weakly once he gets to the top, “Please, I need blood!”

He remembers a time when wanting blood would have disgusted him but he can’t bring himself to even cringe at the memory, banging on the door as loudly as he can instead. The noise crashes into his dizziness and he wobbles for a moment, almost falling before catching himself with a relieved exhale, his abandoned heart pounding.

“Is anyone there?” he asks, clutching the little stone in his hand like a lifeline.

Getting no reply, he slumps against the cold rungs, closing his eyes in frustrated exhaustion. He stays like that for too long, almost dozing off again, but then his stomach gets louder, stronger, and he groans, pocketing the stone and pulling himself upright.

He goes to bang on the door again but slips, his fist hitting the handle with a muted thud. His first reaction is to cradle his hand but then he notices that the handle has moved open slightly, as if it hadn’t been locked into place at all. Frowning, he turns the handle again, blinking in shock when the trapdoor lifts.

“You’re kidding me,” he whispers to himself climbing up a rung so he can use both hands to push it upwards, slowly lifting it so it doesn’t creak and alert anyone else.

They must have forgotten he’s down here because it’s not as dark anymore, there’s a pale light that tells him the dawn is definitely close. Giddy with excitement, he climbs out fully, not caring when his knees sink into wet grass, and gently replaces the door, locking it shut.

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he runs.

He doesn’t want to waste a single second, running as if he’s being chased by a greater demon or worse, Camille.

His shoes echo on the pavement as he sprints, follows the tune of the ocean. He closes his eyes without thinking, letting his heart and his ears guide him, tuning out the world until his feet sink into sand, throwing him off balance and causing him to trip.

Spitting out any sand that had gotten into his mouth, he lifts himself up onto his elbows, sighing heavily. The dry ocean of yellow shifts below him but he knows he can’t stop yet so he reluctantly picks himself up and unsteadily runs to his rocky area, to the only place he currently has in his life where he can feel safe. Only once he’s there does he collapse, using a rock as a pillow, staring up at the slowly-brightening sky.

He’s surrounded by silence but it’s not the stiff, humid silence of the basement, it’s a cooler, more relaxed freedom from the noise of his current vampire clan.

“Hey, do you need help?”

Simon flinches, his head lifting up for a millisecond before hitting the rock, giving him an extremely strong but equally as brief headache. Clutching his head, he sits up, shuffling back a little.

“No, sta- stay back, please,” he mumbles, not wanting to accidentally bite a mundane and cause everyone more trouble.

But he doesn’t hear anyone move away. He hadn’t heard anyone approach either though, so he takes a risk and opens his eyes, only to be met with concerned eyes and a wrinkled forehead.

“Go away!” Simon tries to shout as he closes his eyes again so he can’t see their veins and the blood humming inside of them, but he knows his voice is quiet, hoarse, his throat dry.

But the stranger doesn’t go away, doesn’t listen.

Simon only realised the stranger has kneeled down beside him when the world behind his closed eyelids darkens, creating a person-shaped shadow.

Then he smells the blood, the scent of metal and warmth and red filling his brain. There’s a soft hiss of pain and something is pressed to the lip he’s biting down as someone says, “Open your mouth and drink, you know you want to.”

And he does, he really does. So he lets go of his lip, letting his mouth slide open and gasping as a familiar substance, his favourite substance, spills over his tongue. He lifts his head up off the rocks again as he swallows the blood, needing more, wanting more. He doesn’t even notice the way his hands reach up to grab the arm he’s feeding from, pulling it closer to him, to his greedy lips.

Only when his stomach sings in satisfaction and he can finally think past the dizziness does he think to stop, think about what he’s actually doing.

His eyes fly open as he registers the same eyes from before staring at him with a smug curiosity, as he registers the man that blinks lazily before pulling his arm back, and as he registers the puncture wounds from his own teeth in the stranger’s arm, still gently oozing thin streams of blood.

“I’m sorry, I- I’m just sorry…” Simon mutters, licking his lips.

The stranger smiles, showing his fangs. “Well, hello, ‘just sorry’, I’m Raphael.”

Despite everything, Simon chuckles lightly.

Then dawn silently swallows the night and sprays soft beams of brightness onto the beach, onto them. The stranger hisses, jerking up and stumbling over Simon to kneel behind a group of rocks, shielding himself from the sunlight.

Simon smiles for a second before walking around, sitting on a small rock opposite the stranger. “My name’s Si- uh, Lewis. The name’s Lewis. Simon Lewis.”

Judging by the other vampire’s – Raphael’s, he corrects mentally – blank stare, Simon guesses he hasn’t seen James Bond and offers a small smile before adding: “Thank you.”

Raphael nods, glancing at his now-healed wrist before squinting up at Simon. “So, you’re the daylighter, huh?”

Simon nods, folding his arms as he raises an eyebrow. “Well, in case the whole ‘not being afraid of the sun’ thing hadn’t given it away, yeah, I am. Why, are you disappointed?”

After shrugging, Raphael replies with, “No, not disappointed. Just… a little shocked is all. I wasn’t expecting the famous daylighter to be lying on the beach, dizzy from bloodthirst.”

“That’s probably fair,” Simon admits, then frowns. “Wait, famous? I’m famous? Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

Raphael makes a face at him, a mixture of exasperation and remorse. He looks Simon over before nodding slowly. “Of course you’re famous, Camille won’t stop bragging about you being a part of her clan.”

He’s dimly aware of his mouth forming a comical ‘o’ shape but Simon ignores it, trying his best not to express his disappointment. He’d fleetingly thought he might have been famous for being special or unique or anything else but he probably should have expected the world to know him just for being a possession, for just being Camille’s possession.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Raphael seems to sense the way Simon quickly becomes disheartened and distant because his expression immediately morphs into one of regret.

“Hey, I'm sorry… what did I say?” he asks, trying to catch Simon's gaze - which is now on the ground - without moving too much and burning himself.

Simon just sighs, having hoped it was just a wording error as Raphael had apologised but then settling for disappointment as he'd asked what he'd done wrong because he didn't know; Simon's more than used to everyone insulting him without a second thought.

He gets up and walks around the rock, fully intending to just walk away before Raphael blurts: “Wait! You can't just leave!”

Simon scoffs, “I think you'll find that, as a daylighter, I can.”

“I know,” Raphael says softly, “but, come on, I let you drink my blood, the least you can do is accompany me until I can leave.”

It might sound rude but Simon can - or maybe he just hopes he can - tell that Raphael doesn't mean to insult him further.

That makes him pause but, instead of walking around again, he sits with his back against the rock Raphael is using as a shield, staring into the sleepy sun, smiling to himself as he pulls out the blue rock and turns it over in his hand.

“Lewis?”

Simon looks up at that, frowning at the sun as if it can give him the answer to his confusion. “Did you just refer to me by my last name?”

Raphael lets out what sounds like a relieved chuckle. “I wasn't aware being a daylighter made you hard of hearing.”

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing aloud, Simon shakes his head, wondering why he's still here, why he can't bring himself to walk away from a vampire that had broken his hope as quickly as he'd sparked it.

He stares out at the ocean as if the calming lullaby of waves hitting the sand can help him. The sun is stronger now, brighter, more stable, spreading an equal amount of silent warmth over the place.

Eventually, he gets fed up with the quietness and curls his hand around the stone. “Hey, Raphael?”

“Yes?” The reply is immediate, as if Raphael had been waiting for this, waiting for him to say something. 

Simon smiles to himself at the thought but doesn't let it go to his head, then asking: “Which clan do you belong to?”

There's a tense silence before Simon hears what sound like Raphael letting his head hit the rock. He almost feels guilty but doesn't get time to feel too bad before he gets a reply.

“I don't belong to a clan, a clan belongs to me.”

Simon's eyes widen and he's suddenly very glad he's not sat face to face with Raphael because he's sure he would have embarrassed himself. He takes a second to compose himself so his voice doesn't come out squeaky. “You're a clan leader?”

There's a short hum of confirmation from the other side but Simon can't read it so he gingerly stands up, stretches out his numb legs, and walks back around the rock, perching on a boulder opposite Raphael.

“What aren't you saying?”

He frowns at Raphael but he can't bring any threat into the expression, too distracted by the symphony of beautiful features on the vampire’s face. Simon can't get over the way his brown eyes are so alive, as if someone had melted a violin and poured it into his irises, never mind the way his inky black hair looks so smooth that he can't help wondering if it might sing like a piano if he ran his hands through it.

He pulls himself out of his blatant gazing as Raphael clears his throat pointedly.

“Uh, you- I was just… you were saying something about your clan?” Simon splutters, knowing his face must be flushed.

Thankfully, Raphael only raises an eyebrow before letting it pass and starting to talk. “I used to be a part of Camille’s clan-” he pauses to see Simon's reaction and whether or not it's okay to continue- “but then she broke the Accords and the whole clan split because of it, the majority joining me and ultimately starting a new clan, with me as the leader.”

Simon nods as if his mind isn't whirling at top speed. After trying to figure out what Camille had done and failing, he turns to Raphael. “What did she do to break the Accords?”

“She was turning mundanes, keeping them as subjugates, feeding on them and other fledglings without their consent.”

Simon's mouth falls open.

“What?” Raphael asks sharply, “What is it?”

“You-” Simon licks his lips- “You mean clans aren't meant to feed on each other?”

Raphael eyebrows arch up in what looks like a mixture of suspicious amusement and plain horror. “Vampires are not meant to feed on one another at all, unless they're in a relationship. It's regarded to be an intimate action, surely you know that.”

Without thinking, he reaches up to his neck, where he can almost feel the puncture marks from before, even though they'd healed when he'd fallen asleep in the basement.

A choked sound escapes Raphael, a sound similar to someone unexpectedly cutting the strings of a stringed instrument halfway into a piece, and leans forward a little, flinching back from the sun but keeping his gaze on Simon.

“Hey, Lewis, has Camille fed from you without your consent?”

“It's Simon,” Simon whispers absently, letting his hand fall back down and clutching the stone with a tighter grip in his other hand. He's sure he'll have an impression of it in his palm later.

Raphael nods. “I'm sorry, Simon. I'm used to being diplomatic and first names are a luxury for me.”

“Names are a luxury for me,” Simon replies, smiling as best as he can despite the tears he can feel pooling in his eyes like a cluster of notes ready to burst through the page.

The expression on Raphael’s face tones down to one of something akin to pity, his eyebrows furrowing and sympathetic crinkles appearing at the edge of his eyes. He looks halfway to guilty, his lips turned down slightly and his eyes screaming regret, even the shadows on his face adding chords of apologies.

Simon shifts nervously, and when the pause stretches to a precarious silence, he gets up and slides down the other side of the rock again, stretching his legs out and biting his lower lip to stop his chin trembling.

Just as he hears Raphael sigh, he spots the new coloured stones, this time rich oranges, reds and pinks. And still no reds, thankfully.

He smiles to himself and picks up a small, flat and rounded yellowish one, liking the way it looks slightly orange in places, similar to sand. It matches with the dark blue stone he'd picked up last time, the blue on that looking greenish in places, like the ocean.

“Simon?” Raphael calls tentatively.

Clutching one stone in each hand and wrapping his arms around himself, Simon shakes his head even though Raphael can't see it and watches the rhythmic waves, gently tapping his toes in tune to them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His eyes snap open as something hits his head.

Groaning but expecting it to be one of Camille’s closer associates, he jumps up and curls his hand around the stones, his silent heart somehow racing.

“Simon? You still there?”

Raphael’s voice pushes him out of his panic so he cautiously leans over the rock, trying to figure out if he's imagining things.

He's not. Raphael is still sat there, his fingers fiddling with something small, his legs stretched out a little because the rock's shadow has elongated.

“Yeah, why? It's not like you seem super interested in figuring out who I am or how I came to be…”

There's a pause. “What?”

Despite everything, Simon rolls his eyes at the cluelessness. “You seriously need to update your knowledge of sci-fi dramatics.”

Their conversion may as well be a magnet for silence because, yet again, there's a pause that borders on uncomfortable. Then Raphael breaks it by asking: “Do you and your sci-fi dramatics have a way to work out what time it is?”

“No,” Simon says, barely keeping himself from laughing, “but my spectacular deduction skills and telepathic communication with the sun tell me that it's late afternoon, almost evening really.”

As expected, Raphael isn't overly impressed, simply extracting the information he needs from Simon's comment and ignoring the rest. “That explains the longer shadows,” he mutters, more to himself than anything.

The ocean whistles behind him, piercing and bright, so Simon whirls, looking around, trying to figure out why it's warning him.

“Oh, for the love of the force, you've got to be kidding me…”

“Simon? What is it, are you hurt? What force?” Raphael asks immediately and, if Simon didn't know better, he might have said he could detect genuine concern amongst the cultural ignorance in his tone.

“I… I have to go. Just, uh, hang tight, I guess, sorry, bye.” And, with that, Simon's off, running so fast the sand howls under his feet and the wind sings encouragement in his ears.

He knows exactly where he's going, of course. Like every other typical, probably cliché beach in the world, this one has cliffs on one side that overlook the whole place, perfect for hiding from and keeping an eye on someone at the same time.

As soon as he gets there, he lies on his stomach as close to the edge as he can without plummeting to his second death, leaning up on his elbows so he can see what's going on despite being so far away Thank yoda for his enhanced eyesight.

He sees Camille’s right hand woman approach and start talking to Raphael, seemingly try to flirt. She's only met with a stoic poker face that makes Simon have to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop him laughing loudly to himself. By the time he's recovered, she's already starting to march away, her heels sinking into the sand with each step, making her walk look comically unbalanced, as if she's drunk.

Only when she's completely out of sight does he relax, rolling over and lying on his back, staring up at the stars and their silent, shining symphony.

The ground is cool beneath him as the wind washes over his body like an ocean of cold, the soothing melody of the waves beneath him tranquilising his erratic pulse.

Despite everything, he hears Raphael when he softly calls: “Simon? Are you still there?”

That almost makes him grin. He tries not to get too excited but he can't help being borderline euphoric at the thought of someone calling for him, wanting him there, and actually using his name instead of some insulting nickname.

“Yeah,” he breathes, but doesn't move; he can't go back down there now that another vampire knows the place exists and, as much as he hopes otherwise, since Raphael might have revealed something that could be used against him.

“Thank you.”

It startles him for a moment before he can accept that Raphael had heard him but if he's honest, he'd more or less expected it. He has to have been made clan leader for a reason and his lack of pop culture etiquette was certainly not it.

His consistent ability to fall asleep today is inexplicable but he just embraces it, letting himself doze off, the two stones clutched in his hand like a ward of protection.

When his eyes open next, he's met with the sight of pale, dark blue.

“Oh my G- gauh-” he coughs, cutting himself off, sitting up with a gasp. He pockets the two stones without thinking, needing to keep them safe, hidden.

“I can't decide if your inability to say ‘God’ is pathetic or endearing,” Raphael says, sounding a lot closer than earlier.

Simon looks up slowly, his eyes wide. As he'd suspected, Raphael is standing above him, to the side a little, his hair slightly dishevelled by the breeze whistling through it but looking no less mesmerising.

On instinct, he shuffles backwards, his first urge to get away, to hide, to avoid being taken to Camille again, his panic louder than the small, logical part of his brain telling him he's safe unless he moves, unless he crawls right off the edge of the cliff.

Thankfully, Raphael manages to figure out what could happen before it does, and Simon finds himself leaning against a cold chest that sends ripples of warmth through his body.

“Easy there, Lewis,” Raphael whispers, Simon feeling the vibrations of the words more than he actually hears them.

His heart is humming with gleeful relief so he lets himself he guided away from the threat of falling until he's propped up against a tree with Raphael kneeling beside him, one hand on Simon's shoulder to steady him. Dimly, he wonders if Raphael can hear the contentment spreading through his body faster than the ocean waves on a stormy day.

That's before the worry sets in. Raphael had seen him vulnerable. He knows that shouldn't matter but he can't help fret over how he'll react and if this will destroy the first chance at a friendship he'd had in his whole life. He's going to lose it all again and-

“I know you don't need to but maybe try breathing, Simon,” Raphael whispers quietly, but it's loud enough to break though his mental crescendo of fear.

For some reason, he does. Once the useless oxygen is flowing through his lungs like unnecessary chords making his life more upbeat than it needs to be, he blinks himself back to the present, to where he is..

“What- Why are your arms around me?” Simon asks, looking down to see Raphael’s velvet suit covering his bare arms.

Raphael chuckles. “You're welcome for me saving your life.”

Simon blushes, ducking his head even though Raphael is behind him. “Right, yeah, uhm, thanks for that.”

Neither of them move until it becomes completely dark and the stars breathe above them, which might have been minutes or hours later but Simon wouldn't be able to tell you if someone had asked, he'd been too lost in the rhythm of Raphael and his general existence.

It had felt similar to a lifetime's worth of feeling like he was playing all the right notes at all the right times, the best feeling he knows but somehow made better.

Both of them can still see, but Simon knows he's not safe on the beach now that it's dark so he carefully, reluctantly untangles himself from Raphael’s embrace and turns so they're sat facing one another, nerves settling in his heart once again.

“I can't stay… I-”

Raphael cuts him off, holding a hand up. “Camille’s looking for you, I'm aware.”

He shifts awkwardly, internally cringing at himself. “You do? Wait, I meant ‘you are’, I was just expecting you to say ‘I know’. Who even tells people they're aware anymore? That's so ostentatious, why would you even do that?”

A pointed clearing of the throat reminds him that he'd gone off on a tangent and potentially insulted the only vampire to look at him with unselfish reasons singing in their eyes.

“Oh my G- uhh-” he coughs- “I mean, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to insult you or anything and please don't push me off the cliff now…” He shuts his eyes, curling up a little.

“Usually, I would give anyone the cold shoulder for saying that but, since you somehow used a word I haven't heard used correctly for around two decades, I'll let you off,” Raphael says, his tone unwavering and highly bewildering. “Now, ostentatious or not, I have something for you, if you'll accept my gift?”

Because of said monotonous tone, it takes Simon a moment to understand that he'd been asked a question.

It takes him a further moment to register that someone had actually asked for his opinion and another to process the idea of anyone wanting to give him a gift. As soon as he comprehends everything, his eyes widen and he nods quickly.

“Yes! Yes, of course, thank you!”

Raphael tilts his head to the right. “You don't even know what it is yet.”

Simon shrugs. “It's been pretty long since I've gotten a gift, I'll accept most things at this point. Unless you somehow found an essay on why lightsabers are bad, because I disagree and I wouldn't want that.”

“It's not an essay, I'm not even sure what those things are,” Raphael assures him, simultaneously managing to amuse him.

Now excited, Simon grins. “So, what is it? It's definitely not a lightsaber, I know that much.” he deliberately emphasises the word ‘lightsaber’, smirking when Raphael rolls his alluring, violin-like brown eyes.

Raphael smiles and holds out his fist. He waits until Simon is nicely confused before slowly unfurling his fingers in tune to the breeze floating by, revealing something small, nearly triangular, and grey.

Frowning, he looks up at Raphael with a question in his eyes - in answer to which, he gets a small nod - before picking it up, turning the small object in his hand.

It's a pebble.

A grey pebble.

It's a grey pebble that somehow contains every shade of grey a pebble can be, from the most pastel of greys to the most unrecognisable darker greys. One one side, there's a small shape engraved, what looks like a lopsided heart, and, as he turns it over, he sees two small curved triangles, fangs, carved into the other side.

The frown from before has only increased when he looks back up at Raphael, the questions still singing in the air between them.

“I saw you liked my rocks so I thought I'd add a personal touch to your collection,” Raphael explains, his voice soft and gentle, before he hastily adds: “Purely because I felt obliged to thank you for accompanying me all day, nothing else.”

He might have laughed at the awkward tone that had just been emitted from who he'd classed as the most formal and pretentious vampire on earth but he's too busy frowning even harder, furrowing his brows and biting his lip to concentrate.

An unknown duration of time later, he pulls the blue and yellow stones out from his pocket, looking back at Raphael and his symphony of beautiful facial features.

“You left these?”

Raphael nods slowly. “I didn't think anybody came to this part of the beach so it was going to be a one time thing but I saw you pick the blue one up and I got inspired to keep going.”

“Why?” Despite usually having to be forced to stop talking, Simon finds he can't form sentences.

Luckily for him, Raphael seems to easily understand what he means. “I couldn't tell you if I tried, Simon. I wasn't sure what I was doing the whole time but I'm glad it worked out in the end.”

Simon smiles and looks down at the three stones in his hand, the colours of which perfectly encompass his favourite aspects of the beach: the sunlight, the ocean, his rocky refuge… and Raphael.

Without the three stones, he'd have been floating in doldrums from having to part with his harmonious beach of peace but now, when the whole place has been lovingly simplified to three small gifts, he knows this geographical song can be replaced by one he can make eye contact with, by one that can sing tranquility with him rather than at him.

“I have a proposition for you, daylighter.”

At the formal title, he looks up, stumbling out of his thoughts, wondering what else Raphael could do for him.

“Competent vampires are hard to come by nowadays. I'm in need of a personal assistant and I have a feeling you'd be perfect for the role. Should you choose to accept, you'll be guaranteed a place of utmost importance in my clan, in our clan.” Raphael’s tone is steady but, in Simon's eyes, his brilliance is steadily rising and solidifying, like the bridge in a piece of music.

“Just like that?” Simon asks, almost in a daze.

The corners of Raphael mouth curl upwards as he nods. “Yeah, just like that.”

Simon doesn't even think beyond that, his head nodding and confirming his future before he can second-guess himself and change his mind.

He glances down at the three stones again, the three stones that had inadvertently changed his life. His fingers close around them, their surface cool against his clammy palm.

“Can a personal assistant wear jewellery?” Simon asks, fully intending to string the stones onto a necklace and let them hang over his heart for the rest of his life.

Raphael smiles so widely his fangs are visible. “As long as this personal assistant doesn't choose to constantly wield a light weapon.”

“Tough decision…” Simon drawls, then abruptly lunges forwards, wrapping his arms around Raphael’s neck, only avoiding overbalancing and getting a faceful of mud due to Raphael quick reflexes.

Not a beat after they're steady again does Raphael whisper: “Welcome to your new clan, Lewis.”

Only, Simon hears it slightly differently. The way he hears it, sat there in a warm, melodic embrace with the kindest, most attitude-filled vampire he's ever met, underneath a beautiful orchestra of stars and holding the best gift he's ever received in his life, Raphael has just welcomed him home.

There's a small part of him that wants to argue with writers and directors who always show characters meeting as some kind of happy ending so he can tell them that they've been wrong. His current life as he's known it for far too long is ending but it's not the ending itself that's happy, it's the promise of a new beginning. After all, Leia getting together with Hans was hardly the end of anything.

Raphael’s very presence is the genre of music he hadn't known he'd been missing out on and Simon’s more than happy to spend the rest of his life listening to and watching the man who's so quickly become, as the saying more or less goes, music to his eyes.

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, my friend's in a really bad place. If you can donate to help her via ko-fi or paypal, hmu, thanks <3
> 
> Look at how amazing the art is??? I added it again bc it deserves appreciation!! I'm honoured to have such a brilliant art associated with my fic xxo
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


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